Tat Tvam Asi or You Are This
by Ms. Cookie
Summary: As Mihael Keehl grows up, he discovers there are more then just the prime colors. And he's not sure he approves the discovery. Mello-centered


**Tat Tvam Asi**

**1. Red.**

"He survived?"

She asked, panting a little. The sheets were stained with blood. Her blonde hair, so golden that in the light it seemed almost orange, spread, shineless, all over the pillow.

"He survived?" She repeated.

Her friend sat by her side and held her hand. Strongly. Her lips were painted with a red as vulgar as the blood on the sheets. "He did, Suze. He's breathing and he's a beutiful boy."

She pressed her lips tight. "All the previous ones died."

"But this one survived, Suze."

She tightened the grip on her friend's hand and looked around, to the walls painted in bright red. The smell of cheap perfume ligering in the air, the clothes of doubtable moral thrown over a chair on the corner. A tear escaped her eyes.

"Poor child," She murmoured, before many others followed the first one. "why did you do it?"

**2. Blue.**

He never understood if his mother had named him for irony or hope. The name of an angel: _Mihael_.

Sometimes, right after waking up in the blue-walled room, he would ask this question. She always answered that it was for love, that he was the light and the angel of her life.

And he concluded it was for irony, for right after that she'd go to the mirror, put that horrible blue shade over her eyes and dress that skirt much shorter then it would be advisable. Then, she'd no longer be Suzan Keehl, but Sininen.

Sininen. _Blue_. But Mihael would only be fluent in finnish many years later.

Sininen never spoke to him before she left.

And when she'd come back, tired and rarely dressing the exact same clothes she left with, she locked herself in her room for several minutes. And those minutes Mihael usually used to hide.

Because when she'd come out, there would be no place to run to, and only his own screams would comfort him. But she wasn't his mother. She was Sininen.

At night, Mihael Keehl counted the blue bruises on his body.

**3. Yellow.**

Mihael liked his hair a little long, like his mother's. She hated it.

"What is the problem, mom? Even Jesus had long hair."

She smiled sharply. "You're right, son. And wasn't he crucified?"

Sometimes, Mihael asked himself who his father was, and why did he never show up to play with him, or tell him stories.

Mihael climbed a chair to look at his reflection. Perhaps it would be easier to find out if he wasn't pratically a carbon replica of his mother. The old tiles, yellowing with age, of the bathroom framed his face and his incredibly golden hair. A blue spot over his left eye.

Most times, when he looked at the mirror, he could only see his mother.

But today he saw Sininen.

So, he took an old scissor and began cutting his hair off, and cutting and cutting, until there was what seemed a miniature wheat field around him. Then, he no longer saw Sininen.

Only Mihael.

Mihael.

**4. White.**

One day, Suzan Keehl did not wake up.

Mihael did, at the usual hour, and waited at the living room. In the few times his mother woke up late, she got dressed and went out so quickly you could think it was a hurricane. But this time the hours passed and there was no sound.

He tried to concentrate in the book and the notebook in front of him. He had learned to read by himself a little time ago. He was triyng to learn how to write. Those white lines confused and even tormented him a little. White lines, waiting to be filled.

_And that silence_.

Eventually, he opened the door and called his mother's name. She was spread all over the bed. And there was that white powder over the bedside table...

He shook her gently, calling softly. Her eyes were out of focus, she didn't wake up. Mihael screamed, screamed and screamed. The was no sign his mother heard him, but a neighbour rang the bell.

Mihael guided the old lady to his mother's room. She seemed disgusted by everything, but when she entered it, she covered her mouth with her hand.

"My God," She said with a muffled voice. "my God." She repeated.

He wasn't the only one to have problems with white lines.

**5. Black.**

The ambulance only arrived when the night was falling. They carried Suzan Keehl to the back of the car, and Mihael quietly refused to leave her side. He just followed her, silent and serious.

He was not crying. He was little older then three, but understood the situation and his eyes were dry.

In the hospital, he waited at the corridor while the doctors came in and out. But the only person to adress any word for him, much later, was dressed in black, had her hair up in a tight bun and a badge in which was written _Social Assistant_.

"Mihael?" She asked, kneeling down in order to level her eyes with his, which just couldn't be a good sign. "You are Mihael, are you not?"

"How's my mom?"

"She'll be alright, Mihael. But... She's not quite well yet." She had her speaches and smiles perfectly rehearsed, but evidently didn't expect that a child could see right through them. "Not well at all. You'll have to spend some time with some... friends of her. Is that okay?"

It wasn't. Mihael tried to hit her, push her, but of course he knew his tiny hands held no chance over the slim body dressed in black. He tried to escape the hospital, but couldn't even pass the hall.

He stood awake the whole time during the darkest evening of his life.

**6. Gray.**

The months Mihael lived in the dusty house of the Szary were marked for a long time in his memory as the worsts of his life.

Mr. Szary was only seen when he came back from work, almost at the evening. He never spoke more the three consecutive words to the boy. But Mrs. Szary was much worse.

"You don't need to be afraid of us, Mihael. We're not like your mother."

And other subtly disguised offenses.

One day, walking the house, Mihael discovered and underground room. The door was rusty, worn and and covered in gray dust, but when he pushed it opened noisily to reveal the biggest library the boy ever had seen.

Each and every book had a gray cover and the pages yellowed by time and lack of use.

He passed most of the afternoons among the dusty bookshelves, trying desperately to entertain himself with the life of others. Sometimes, he pretended to live it. He pretended he didn't exist. He didn't _want_ to exist.

The opposite of love is not hatred. It's indifference. When he was with his mother, he saw colors, and in the Szary's house there was nothing that wasn't painted in cold, sober and impersonal gray.

"Don't you worry, Mihael," Said Mrs. Szary one night, while she served dinner. Mr. Szary didn't even raise his eyes, for he found his pea soup much more interesting. "we're not sending you back to that woman."

He shivered at the threat.

**7. Brown.**

His mother embraced him very few times, so, when she did it, he realized how special that moment was.

"I'm sorry for everything, Mihael. They're not taking you away from me again."

He felt her little wet tears dripping over his shoulder. But then Suzan Keehl stood up and took from over the table a brown bar.

"Look. They took away my dependance and exchanged it for _sugar_. I'll never hurt you again, Mihael. Nevermore."

How many nights didn't Mihael pass beside his mother, simply biting the chocolate, even when he wasn't hungry. Sometimes she began crying. Sometimes she shivered, panted. When she first threw the candy at the wall, Mihael fetched it for her and encouraginly bit his own bar.

And he did it second time.

And he did it third time.

The fourth time, he stood still. Even hungryless, he bit his own chocolate bar several times, and waited with his heart aching until his mother stopped crying and stoop up to get the chocolate.

It was because of the chocolate that they let him go back home, and Suzan knew that too.

So she always resumed her eating. While she was eating, everything was alright. They were together.

**8. Purple.**

When Mihael was four, he began attending the school near his house. His mother took him there every morning. The first few times, he grasped her hand strongly, fearing they would take her away from him again.

"Don't worry," She whispered, hand though his hair. "I'll be here to get at the afternoon. I promise."

The other children were always running after a purble ball, in the park. Everyone was surprised when the skinny blonde boy became the best player they had.

One day, an old man came to the school and watched them play. When the match was over, Mihael didn't think twice before going speak to him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Was the answer, in a soft tone which Mihael rarely heard. The old man's eyes were so blue that it seemed like an uncommon shade of purple.

"What's your name?"

"Roger. And yours?"

"Mihael."

The old man kneeled down, something that someone his age obviously shouldn't do. "You are smart, Mihael. You don't just run after the ball. You make a _strategy_."

**9. Green.**

In an exceptionally beautiful spring day, Mihael Keehl broke her promise for the first time: she was not waiting by the door when he went out.

Mihael waited, lying in the grass of the garden and listening to the sound of every other child going away. He would never admit it, but he was nervous. His mother was never late. Be waiting is a caring act easily identified by children.

The headmaster approached. Her smile was not as firm as it usually was.

"Mihael. Your mother... your mother will come later. She just called."

He nodded and rolled over. The grass was green as an emerald, shiny as ever. And he was observing it when he heard the two almost hysterical women inside the school building.

"What shall we do?" Said one of them, her voice high and shaky. It was Mrs. Zöld, who had just spoken to him. "What shall we do with the boy? They called from the hospital. His _mother_..."

"We cannot tell him, Irvine." This was the voice of a short and nervous woman. "But keep him here... We have no conditions."

Mihael's heart started beating fast, but he didn't turn his gaze away from the grass for one second and concentrated on the voices. It was like they were going further and further away...

"I know, Irvine. Roger. He liked the boy, remember? If the goes to the Wammy orfanage—no, don't cry. If they accept the boy—"

And he could hear no more. The tears in his eyes dripped to the soft green ground. Suzan Keehl died in a exceptionally beautiful spring day.

**10. Everything, and nothing.**

There was something very interesting about L's eyes, and Mihael noticed it the first time he ever saw him.

Everyone seemem to think L's eyes held no color. Mihael, on the contrary, found every color in those eyes. Sometimes they were dark as the ground, and he could keep on walking, kicking the earth without making any noise.

Sometimes, he didn't know how, they seemed light as weak tea. And as sticky as the honey from bees, for there was no escaping that gaze.

L's eyes were like a very deep lake. But if you dived, you'd find out it was just a shallow pool of rain water. If you insisted, soon enough they would be little more the dirty ice.

_Changes_.

When he first enterded The Wammy's House, confused, he suddenly found himself in front of those eyes little older then ten. Those were the first eyes that asked for no explanations.

"What's your name?" Asked L's clear voice. He didn't blink. Mihael thought he would drown in those eyes.

"Mi—Mihael," He answered quietly. L leaned foward, trying to hear. His eyes came closer.

"Mello?"

Mihael, so little and confused, nodded. "Mello."

L's eyes were kaleidoscopes.

**X**

**A/N: Hello!**

**First of all, I'd like to apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes on the text. My mother lenguage is portuguese. I'd be much pleased if you could correct any mistakes.**

**Anyway, I wrote this for a challenge, by the theme _colors_. It's my theory of Mello's past. So, I was bored and decided to translate it to english, because it seemed fun. (Meaning... I was reeeealy bored.)**

**I was thinking if perhaps I should translate my other fanfics, it's geat practice since I stopped english classes. So... what do you think?**

**It's time for Cookie's Little Dictionary!**

**Tat Tvam Asi means _You Are This_ in a language which, in portuguese, is called _vérico_. I'm not sure of the translation.  
Sininen means blue, in finnish.  
Szary means gray in... hungarian, I believe.  
Zöld means green in... God, I wrote this so long ago! XD  
Irvine means green river in ancient enlish.  
Suzan means white lily in ancient english.**

**You might find many Regina Spektor influences in the text, if you ever heard her music. If you didn't, I highly recommend you did. The world shall become a little brighter!**

**I'm a bit nervous. Hope you liked it.  
**


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